


Falling

by Fumm95



Series: Morning Glory (Jace Malcom & Satele Shan) [23]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Great Galactic War, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rewrite of the post-Battle of Alderaan scene between Satele and Jace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> I will love these two forever and ship them to my dying breath.

The end of the battle comes quickly once the signal flares are lit and Republic reinforcements arrive; the Empire seems more determined to flee and live to fight another day than to press the attack short their Sith leader, leaving the incoming forces the simple task of chasing down those remaining.

For Jace, it passes in a blur of scouting for stragglers and moving fallen comrades, assisting with the injured—assisting with _his_ men—and completely forgetting about his own wounds until several of the Jedi forcefully pull him away to the hastily set up medical center. The treatment itself is also a blur, this time of Jedi healers and medical droids and doctors and kolto, until he is finally returned to his tent with strict instructions to rest.

The entire _day_ is a blur, everything except…

Except _her_ , all ferocity and determination, his savior and guardian angel. He knew she was on Alderaan, investigating Imperial spies, but resolved to give her her space; it was no coincidence that she was away from the frontlines of the war, away from the bulk of the fighting and the majority of the Republic army. Away from him.

But now she is here in the camp and she rescued him from the Sith, saved him from certain death, and stars, he has never seen her so strong, so powerful, so utterly sublime, and he _knows_ she has noticed his attentions toward her before, knows that she left the fighting in the frontlines of the war in part because of him, knows that she is a loyal Jedi and that any involvement is impossible, and yet…

“Captain Malcom?”

He jerks to his feet as her voice, soft as it is, breaks through his thoughts, wincing as sore muscles and newly healed injuries protest the movement. “Come in,” he calls, taking care to keep his voice low.

Satele pokes her head in, her serious expression softening somewhat when she sees him. The rest of her follows quickly and he gets only a brief glimpse of the inky blackness of the Alderaanian night before the tent flap closes behind her.

She seems to be studying him, eyes narrowing as they take in his expression, and he wonders whether there is any residual hint of pain on his face. Judging from the frown that creases her brow, there is. “You require rest. Please don't stand on my account, captain. I only wished to ensure that your recovery—”

“Satele.”

A blink. “Captain Malcom?”

He shakes his head, barely feeling the twinge as new scars stretch from the motion. “That’s not what you used to call me.”

She stills, her face paling. “I—I shouldn't. The Code—”

“ _Satele_.” He pauses, waits until she is watching him, eyes wide, _scared_. “I’ve seen you. You’ve tried to hide it but you can’t, right? You know it’s impossible.”

“I—”

He lowers his voice, lets it soften as he moves toward her, slowly, cautiously. “You came here, to me, Satele. Tell me you want to leave, tell me you want to walk away, and you can go.”

“I…” But her protest is weaker this time and she doesn’t move, even as he stands before her, so close that he could reach out, that he _longs_ to reach out.

“This isn’t about the Jedi, about the Order, or the Republic. Forget them. This is just about you and me. What do you want?”

Her expression looks for all the world like a tauntaun caught in speeder lights; it would likely be funny if he isn’t so serious, so apprehensive for her response. Instead, he waits before her, just out of reach, watching as her eyes dart across his face, clasping his hands behind his back, resisting the urge to fidget. He will not rush her, will not influence her decision. He cannot.

“Jace…”

For a brief moment, he wonders if he misheard the whisper of his name, so soft that it could simply be a figment of his imagination. But no, there is fear in her gaze, but acceptance too, and a resolution that makes his heart _pound_ as he reaches for her.

He has seen her many times before, has fled from the Empire and fought by her side, and yet he has never seen her like this, soft and hesitant, blue eyes warmer, more emotional, than he has ever seen, Than, he suspects, anyone has ever seen.

“Satele,” and her name on his lips is sweet, perfect, “Satele, do you want this?”

There is something new in her gaze when she looks up at him, studying his expression, something light and elusive that steals his breath. Her fingers, calloused from years of lightsaber training, are soft and he cannot help but lean into her touch, studies every emotion that flickers across her face as he hears her breath catch.

“ _Yes_.”

And then her lips are on his and he knows that his heart is no longer his own.


End file.
